The Body in the Cast (11 page)

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Authors: Katherine Hall Page

BOOK: The Body in the Cast
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“The querent fears the Knight of Swords, the brown-haired youth who brings or takes away misfortune.”
“The Two of Pentacles represents those around him. He is balancing many factors.”
A balancing act. His whole life was one long balancing act. The cards never lied, he thought.
“The Chariot carries his hopes. He would like to achieve greatness.
Marta stopped speaking and looked at the last card, the outcome, with the director.
“The moon is strong tonight, Max. It was inevitable.”
“And the other night, the same damn Moon card?”
Marta reassembled the deck.
“I know what it means, remember. Perils, deception, and secret enemies.”
She sighed. “It depends on your question. The Moon can also illuminate your path and lead you away from danger.”
“Do you want to know my question?” he asked.
“I think I know, Max dear.”
“I wonder if you do.”
It is a curious subject of observation and inquiry, whether hatred and love be not the same thing at bottom.
The auditorium at Pritchard Junior High was packed and the highly partisan audience a bit more rowdy than was usual at Aleford public gatherings. At the moment, the stage was empty except for four gray metal folding chairs and a long table on which four glasses of water, a full pitcher, and a microphone had been placed.
Supporters of the three candidates waiting in the wings had had to choose between front-row seats and sitting en masse. The Alden Spaulding contingent opted for proximity and tried to snare as many as possible in the choice location close to the stage, elbowing their neighbors in a determined way. Penny Bartlett's fans went for unity and were occupying a block of rows under the balcony in the center of the room. The Heuneman forces had rallied undecidedly to the left-rear and front rows. Very few in attendance were uncommitted, and Faith wondered aloud to Tom why they had all bothered to come when everyone's minds were already made up.
“You shouldn't assume everyone is so firmly decided. I, for
one, intend to listen with an open mind to all three candidates” —Tom paused and then just before his wife could jump on him, he continued—“then vote for Penny.”
“You see, everyone
is
decided. We're only here because we're all afraid the opposition might outnumber us.”
“Usually true, sweetheart, but I think in this election there are really quite a few people who have not made up their minds. If it was simply Penny against Alden, the choices would be clear, yet James is a dark horse. I don't know where he stands on a lot of things myself, and I've known him since I arrived in Aleford. Then, last but not least, let's not forget the entertainment value an event like this affords the town. Who could stay home, even to watch ‘Murphy Brown,' when you have the opportunity to see your fellow citizens going at it hammer and tongs live?”
The candidates were taking their places. Peg Howard, the reference librarian at Aleford's Turner Memorial Library and president of the League, was calling the crowd to order. Whether it was because the audience was eager to hear the speakers or because of Peg's intrinsic association with silence, everyone immediately shut up.
“I'd like to welcome you all here tonight on behalf of the League of Women Voters and explain the format. Each candidate will have seven minutes to introduce himself or herself, then I will ask several questions prepared by the League. After that, you will have an opportunity to ask questions from the floor, and finally each candidate will have five minutes for a closing statement. Please refrain from any applause or vocal demonstrations, as it merely wastes our time.” Peg looked sternly at the rows directly in front of her. Faith had no doubt the librarian would move to eject any miscreant from the hall and take away their borrowing privileges for a week.
Alden Spaulding was making quite a show of cradling the cast on his left wrist with his right hand. Faith was sure the wrist wasn't broken and that he had somehow intimidated the doctor into putting a cast on in a bid for sympathy votes.
Audrey's remarks had eliminated any possibility that Spaulding would sue the caterers, but with everything that had been happening lately, Faith was jumpy and would have preferred to see the wrist bare, or in an Ace bandage at most.
“Now, James Heuneman will begin as he drew the highest card.”
Peg passed the mike to James and he seemed a bit confused by its appearance for a moment. Admittedly, it was vintage, a twin of Edward R. Murrow's “London Calling” one. James managed to elicit a high-pitched squeal with his first word, then delivered a fairly bland speech about the importance of democracy in action and preserving the town for future generations. It took a total of three minutes. He handed the mike back to Peg with a smile of obvious relief.
“Thank you, Mr. Heuneman. Now Penelope Bartlett will present her remarks.”
Penny took the mike easily, like the true club woman she was. Faith was surprised she wasn't wearing a hat and gloves, but she had put on one of her good flowered silk dresses and her handbag was sitting squarely between her feet, sensibly Cobbies-clad. She took the full seven minutes to touch on several subjects. A brief, and modest, description of her own qualifications—Wellesley '49, her volunteer work, years in Town Meeting—then proceeded to a description of the problems Aleford was facing with diminished resources and a population that was growing most rapidly in the over-sixty-five and school-age categories. “Two wonderfully entertaining groups,” she declared, “but one like as not on a fixed income and the other with none. Which means we have to find ways to be fair to both. We'll need to reopen one of the schools we closed when enrollments were down, yet we can't let our older friends turn the heat too low or start eating one meal a day less as a result.”
Faith couldn't imagine life being sustained with the heat turned any lower than it was in the majority of Aleford households, whatever the age of the occupants. In fact, it seemed the
older they were, the more insistent they were on flinging windows open in December to let in some fresh air, or firmly shutting off the furnace in April because it was spring, come what may. Economizing by cutting down on food was another matter, and she knew from Pix and her Meals-on-Wheels work that malnutrition due to a lack of money was a big problem among the elderly.
Penny had barely finished—leaving, Tom whispered to Faith, a warm, fuzzy feeling, like one of the kids' blanket sleepers—when Alden seized the mike with his good hand and, without waiting for Peg's introduction, launched into his speech—or rather, attack.
“My good friends, here you see exactly what is wrong with us and why, if you'll pardon the expression, Aleford is going to hell in a hand basket.”
Alden was opting for slightly less than the full treatment. Profanity, yes, but genteel, even folksy profanity.
“Now let's start with Mrs. Barlett's ill-advised, and I do not use these words lightly, notion of reopening schools left and right.” He took a sheath of papers from his suit pocket and rustled them importantly in front of the microphone, startling James Heuneman, before quoting to the penny how much it would cost to reopen even one school and how much the town would lose in revenue from the current tenants, a computer-software development firm.
“If you elect me your selectman, I will not spend one cent to reopen these schools. We have no idea whether this trend will continue.” He eyed the audience, as if to say, And it better not.
Faith poked Tom in the ribs. “If we have another baby, we'll have to answer to Alden.” “A pretty good reason,” he mouthed back, and she was sorry she'd made the comment. Tom came from a long line of large families—to Faith more than two children fit the category—and was eager to maintain the tradition.
“The whole thing can be solved with a little ingenuity. That's what this town is lacking these days. Yes, a little ingenuity and
belt tightening. Mobile classrooms can fill the bill nicely for a few years and then we can sell them to some other school system.”
“Trailers!” Faith gasped to her husband, who nodded grimly.
“Four walls are four walls, and what happens inside them depends on the teacher, anyway. That's what all the research the fellows at Harvard—oh, pardon me—the fellows and gals, say.”
Alden really was wicked. He'd probably picked up one issue of
The Harvard Educational Review
and now would cut its findings to suit his cloth. Faith was suddenly nervous. “We'd better give some more money to Penny's campaign,” she murmured. “You bet your sweet ass we will,” he muttered.
Tom, from the evidence, was even more nervous.
Alden finished with a flourish. “Everywhere I go, I see the quality of small-town life deteriorating, and this was not why I put on our great country's uniform and laid my life on the line. We've got to go to war again and fight against the spendthrift mentality represented by my opponents here. I know you will help me in the struggle. Together we will succeed!” He smiled ingratiatingly and passed the microphone to an obviously annoyed Peg Howard.
“What war was he in?” Faith asked Tom. “Korean?”
“No war. National Guard. But to be fair, he stayed in a long time.”
“Who wants to be fair?” Faith remarked, then decided to curtail her remarks. Millicent, in the next row, had turned around, and Faith didn't want to see a finger on those pursed lips.
Round one was over and Alden had definitely won, on shock value alone. He was at one end of the table. James sat between him and his half sister, which most of the audience knew was no accident.
Firmly in control of the microphone and protocol once more, Peg asked the questions prepared by the League. The
candidates' replies contained few surprises, and the heat in the auditorium supplemented by all the warm bodies in the audience combined to make Faith very drowsy. She was having trouble keeping her eyes open and had resorted to pinching herself to stay awake. Even putting the finishing touches on the menu Alan Morris had requested for a surprise birthday party for Max Reed the next night failed to capture her attention, but the first question from the floor catapulted her into a state of total alertness.
It was asked by Daniel Garrison, sporting a gigantic Spaulding button, befitting his dual role of best—and some said only—friend and campaign manager.
“My question is for Mrs. Bartlett,” he began suavely. “Would you not agree that it is absolutely necessary to have the trust and confidence of the entire community in order to serve on the board?”
“Yes, of course.” Penny seemed puzzled about where the question was going, as was a sizable portion of the audience.
“You would agree that a member of this board, the most important single unit in governing the town, must be like Caesar's wife, let us say, and thus above reproach?”
Penny's face grew stern and her no-nonsense reply made it clear she thought the question just so much hollow campaign rhetoric, paving the way for a paean to Alden's own lofty qualifications.
“Mr. Garrison, could you get to the main point and leave Caesar's wife to Caesar? If you want to discuss accountability, I am more than happy to address the issue.”
“I'm delighted to hear that, Mrs. Bartlett.” He pronounced her name as if it was an alias. “Then you will not mind disclosing certain financial transactions made by you and your late husband, particularly regarding those reported on your state and federal income tax statements in 1971?”
There was an immediate buzz in the audience, followed by absolute silence. Faith reached for Tom's hand and whispered in his ear, “What is this? Alefordgate?”
Penny did not retreat. Faith's admiration for the woman doubled, if that was possible. Had she been attacked in such a manner, Faith's inclination would have been to hoist her loaded pocketbook and bean both Alden and his slimeball friend.
“Mr. Garrison.” Penny smiled gently. She shook her head slightly in sorrow for someone led astray by bad companions. “I think this town knows me well enough after all these years to trust me. I have always been forthcoming, and my late husband was the same. I find your question inappropriate.”
A real lady. Right down to her mother's wedding pearls and the slim gold band from Shreve's on her left ring finger, worn thin from years of constant wear.
It was this last article of jewelry that Faith noticed Penny began to twist after handing the microphone back to Peg. It was the sole outward sign the question may have disturbed her.
Dan Garrison tried to ask a follow-up question, but Peg was quick to cut him off. “Thank you, Mr. Garrison, we'll get back to you if there is time. However, I see many other hands.”
After this beginning, the rest of the questions seemed tame, even the heated exchange between Alden and one of the PTA presidents over the use of mobile classrooms, which ended with the good lady red with frustration, exclaiming, “Why am I wasting my breath? You just don't get it and never will!”
The order for the closing statements had also been predetermined and Alden was last. After expressing his thanks in a similar manner to his opponents, he chose to use the rest of his time to discourse on the importance of trust.

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